


Where The Heart Lies

by CigaretteDaydreamss



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Wilbur Soot, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Found Family, Gen, Not really but they're the same age so, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, sleepy bois inc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CigaretteDaydreamss/pseuds/CigaretteDaydreamss
Summary: “Why are you helping me?” Techno had asked, gazing up at Phil with a sort of awe as he bandaged his knuckles for him.“Because nobody deserves this.”“Even me?”“Especially you.”
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I already have another fic in process, but updates shouldn't be more than a month apart! I'll try to keep it weekly, but for now, enjoy! This chapter is just an introduction, but it'll get angst and plot-heavy soon.  
> TW for non-graphic mentions of past abuse.

Technoblade was 13 when he met Phil. 

Alone, exhausted, and thoroughly bruised, Phil had welcomed the battered boy into his home with open arms; though they didn’t take to each other immediately.

Phil had walked on eggshells around him for weeks, and Techno knew right there and then his social worker had told him everything. It made Phil pity him. He hated pity, and so he lashed out.

It started with small things. Dropping grades, hiding away in his room, taking dinner upstairs to avoid his new foster father at all costs. Techno found a sort of solace in it, skipping school and sneaking out just to spite Phil. He didn’t like the fights he got in or the lectures he endured, but it was worth it. At least, he thought so until Phil found him bloody and bruised in the bathroom after picking a fight with some kid over stolen books.

“Why are you helping me?” Techno had asked, gazing up at Phil with a sort of awe as he bandaged his knuckles for him.

“Because nobody deserves this.”

“Even me?” 

“Especially you.”

They hadn't had a problem since that day. Techno started to sit with him during meal times, taking Phil up on his offer to watch a movie after dinner every once in a while. They watched the 1964 Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer movie that night, despite Christmas having passed 4 months ago. And when Techno fell asleep on the couch, Phil simply scooped him up and brought him to bed.

* * *

Techno then met his younger brother at 14.

Tommy was a lively thing, constantly running his mouth and bouncing off the walls. He had come from a group home, not having to deal with the empty hearts of the foster parents and the cold hallways of their homes. They hadn’t gotten along at first. Tommy was all fun and games, always inserting himself into Techno’s business, while Techno was docile and private, flinching at the loud noises and quick movements that came from Tommy. It caused more than one instance of yelling matches. 

Phil was always quick to interlude, tiredly sending them to their rooms and staying up through the night, soft voices attempting to convince each other of how they were right. It simply wasn’t  _ fair,  _ Technoblade persisted. It wasn’t fair that Tommy, who had practically been fed a silver spoon compared to Technoblade, was allowed to walk all over him and stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Phil had always insisted this wasn’t the case, but it was hard to convince a rambunctious 10-year old that no, Techno doesn’t hate him, he simply needs his privacy and to be left alone when asked.

And so the cycle continued. Bickering became yelling, which became an exasperated Phil separating them, which became late-night talks and whispered voices about the things Techno was forced to endure during his time in the 3 foster homes he had cycled through, and how Tommy was only hindering his healing process. 

“Open up to him, if you’re comfortable,” Phil had said one night. “He’s a kid. He doesn’t understand it.”

So he did. 

Techno sat Tommy down and told him about the homes before this, and how they were not as nice as Phil. He told him about how the first family had seemed decent but had slowly revealed themselves to be manipulative and cold. How family 2 was terrible right off the bat, how he had to fight for every meal just to be pushed away immediately, being the youngest and all. How family 3 hit him, but managed to convince him it was his own fault. 

Tommy sat wide-eyed the whole time, face flushed with shame. He seemed to finally understand the limits Techno had always insisted on and was horrified with himself.

“I’m-I’m sorry I’m not who you need…” Tommy had sobbed, hugging the startled teen and shoving his face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m so loud and I scare you when I’m rough with you, and-and-”

“Uh, Tommy, listen,” Technoblade grumbled, holding the young boy away from him. Tommy sniffed aggressively, wiping at his face before looking his brother in the eyes. “It’s not that… okay…” He wasn’t good at this. “You’re who I  _ want _ , and that’s enough.”

They hugged, and if Techno let a tear slip, he didn’t say anything.

* * *

Today, at 17, Technoblade met the enigma that is Wilbur Soot. 

Phil had warned them of his arrival only a day beforehand, explaining that it was last minute and the boy had nowhere to go. Phil seemed reluctant to say why; wouldn’t even say how many homes the boy had been in before. The kid was 16, so he assumed a decent amount. It worried him, especially since Phil was panic baking again. He hadn’t done that since Techno had closed himself off after Tommy’s arrival. It created a tense atmosphere, Tommy more silent than usual and Technoblade avoiding them more.

Dinner the night before Wilbur had crashed into their lives had been the start of the disastrous mealtimes to come. 

“Why won't you tell us anything about him?” Tommy snapped, glaring at Phil. “What did he do?” 

“He didn’t do-” Phil hesitated. “He’s... fine, okay? I wouldn’t bring someone dangerous into our house.”

“What, so he did do something?” Technoblade questioned, dinner forgotten.

“It’s complicated.” 

“It’s  _ complicated? _ ” 

Phil huffed. “Boys, please just drop it, I-”

“Fuck no,” Tommy stood abruptly, his chair making an ungodly screech as it was pushed back. “We deserve to know who you’re bringing into our  _ home _ , you keep talking about him like he’s a murderer or some shit!”

“He just- He has a long string of foster homes. He needs this. He needs us.”

“How long?”

“14.”

The aura was suddenly chilling. 

“14,” Techno stated blandly, the sound of Tommy dramatically stomping up the stairs the only sound distracting from his blood pumping loudly in his ears.

“We can’t judge people based on their files, you of all people should know that.”

Techno scrunched up his nose, turning away from Phil.

He seemed to catch his mistake. “Techno, hold on-'' But Technoblade was already up and following in Tommy’s footsteps up the stairs. He found Tommy in his room, arms crossed and glaring at his feet from his spot on the bed. Techno closed the door.

“I just don’t get it,” Tommy growled. “Why do we need a third fucking kid?”

Techno knew Tommy well enough by now to know he was  _ scared. _ Scared of being replaced and scared of change. The Watson family had never done well with change. 

“I don’t know.”


	2. A House is Not a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve er, I’ve got two sons from the foster program.” He said, causing Wilbur to glance briefly at him. “Techno’s the oldest, and Tommy’s a few younger than you.” He quirked a smile, while Wilbur simply hummed in acknowledgement. 
> 
> The rest of the car ride passed in silence.

“Six months.”

“Six _months?_ That’s half a year! There’s no way!”

“And Alcoholics Anonymous meetings once a week.”

“That’s insane! Puffy, come on, you gotta get me out of this.” The woman, Puffy, as the boy liked to call her, huffed and readjusted the clipboard in her hands. 

“It’s court-ordered, Willam, I can’t just ‘get you out’ of probation. This is for your own good anyway.”

“Don’t call me that,” Wilbur muttered, immaturely crossing his arms and staring pointedly at the ground. 

“Sure, Wilbur.” She said softly, not wanting to set him off more than he already was. “You’re getting off easy. I got an old parent friend of mine to take you in and-”

“Fuck, someone’s actually gotta be stuck with me right now?” Wilbur joked grimly, a hysterical laugh bubbling out of him. He rubbed at his face aggressively, immediately pulling back upon the feeling of his scabbed lip ripping back open. 

_Straight out of juvie, and some poor motherfucker’s gotta deal with me._ He thought, dabbing at the beading blood. His last foster home (number 14) had been lackadaisical with their wine cabinet, and, well… here he was. They hadn’t usually cared, catching him bottles deep in the cupboard and only yelling at him for the waste. But surprise surprise, they wanted an excuse for him to be gone, so they reported him. It’s not like he cared, anyway; neglectful was putting it lightly. They weren't worse than house 7, who wouldn’t leave him money to buy something for himself as house 14 did. 

“Quit it,” Puffy said, not unkindly. She rubbed his arm softly (the only person he would ever let touch him) and dragged him away from the gates. She led him toward a man in a green striped bucket hat, which put Wilbur off immediately. What adult man wears bucket hats? 

The blonde man, Phil, as Puffy greeted him, looked downcast at the sight of Wilbur's blackened face. Some kid (Gavin, his mind supplied uselessly) had kicked the shit out of him after finding out Wilbur was getting released today. 

The guards hadn’t done much. His ribs were aching, and his face was unfortunately discoloured. 

Wilbur scowled at the man for good measure. Look like a delinquent and get treated like a delinquent, fucking act like one. 

“Phil,” He was brought out of his solo glaring match by Puffy’s gentle tug on his jumper. “This is Wilbur. Wilbur, this is Phil.”

Wilbur looked back to the blond, frustration welling up in the form of glassy eyes and clenched fists. Phil was staring at him, poorly disguised pity in his eyes. He hated it. 

“Hey, kid,” Phil said kindly, tilting his head and straining his smile wider. Wilbur stayed silent.

Puffy cleared her throat awkwardly. 

“Thanks, Caroline.”

“Please, Phil, we’ve known each other long enough. It’s Cara.”

“Right, well, thanks, Cara. Ready to go?” He directed this at Wilbur. 

Again, he stayed silent, instead opting to walk ahead to the still-running car that ought to be Phil’s.

He listened to his new foster parent and Puffy exchange their goodbyes, Phil’s hurried footsteps catching up with him easily. His gamble paid off, as Phil scurried ahead to open the back door of the car for Wilbur to put his pitiful bag into. He slipped into the seat instead. Phil didn’t comment. 

The car ride was painfully silent. Wilbur kept his eyes trained on the passing terrain, catching Phil slipping glances at him through the rearview mirror. 

“I’ve er, I’ve got two sons from the foster program.” He said, causing Wilbur to glance briefly at him. “Techno’s the oldest, and Tommy’s a few younger than you.” He quirked a smile, while Wilbur simply hummed in acknowledgement. 

The rest of the car ride passed in silence.

* * *

When they pulled into the driveway, Phil didn't make a move to get out of the car. Rather, he turned around in his seat and smiled at Wilbur.

"So, a few ground rules before we go in..." He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can take your shoes off at the door, and…” Wilbur tuned him out. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. From living in family 9’s filth and family 3’s obsessive cleanliness, he was all set for whatever Phil was going to throw at him. 

“Got it?”

He nodded, and they got out of the car.

The house was nice, sizeable with a cliche picket fence lining the neatly trimmed yard. It made him cringe, but he followed Phil up to the door regardless. 

What followed was a mess. 

They were greeted by the sounds of shouting. While Phil looked alarmed, Wilbur simply slipped his shoes off on the mat and stood by Phil, waiting for further instructions. 

“Boys!” Phil called over the shouting match, causing both the kids to freeze. “What’s going on?”

“Techno’s being a bitch!” A young blond immediately yelled, causing the older of the two, presumably Techno, to put his palms up in defence. 

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just, not now. Okay? We have… William's here.” 

“Wilbur,” Wilbur corrected, and Phil looked surprised at his voice.

“Right, Wilbur then.” Phil blinked owlishly, and the kids stared. Wilbur grimaced. 

“I’ll just show you your room, then.”


End file.
